Play On

by Heather C. Myers

  Her father, Jeremy Winsor, was the only constant in her life outside of dancing, and the only person she looked up to. He managed to make every single one of her recitals, even if it meant he would have to miss a Gulls game. He completely supported her, offering to pay for whatever class she wanted to take, to pay for various uniforms and shoes. He volunteered to drive her and other classmates to different shows if buses weren’t available. And she reciprocated the favor by attending as many hockey games as she could.

  Looking back on that period of her life, Emma wished she would have showed more enthusiasm for her father’s favorite sport, especially since he managed to learn different technical terms for dancing and always asked about it. But when you’re ten, twelve, watching grown men ice skate, trying to score and getting violent, wasn’t exactly something that interested her. She would bring books or go over dance moves in her head. Never any sort of MP3 player though. She didn’t want to be rude. And one of the best things about her father was that he never scolded her or was embarrassed by the fact that his daughter didn’t appreciate something he valued as much as she valued dance.

  Now, though. Now she was coming around. Better late than never.

  AS she had been doing the entire summer, Emma was up at five o’clock in the morning, dancing in the studio her father had created for her in the west wing of their house. It was sound proof, so she could turn the music up as loud as she wanted to and it wouldn’t wake up Jeremy, who liked to sleep until eight in the morning. Today was her first day of her last year at UCI, and she was nearly finished with the piece she had been asked to do for the quarter’s end recital in terms of choreography. Of course she had to clean it and then teach it to other people in her group – a group she wouldn’t know the members of until two weeks into the quarter – and then practice it over and over again on top of beginning the choreography for the winter quarter’s recital.

  It sounded busy, but Emma liked that. She liked that her thoughts were always focused. She couldn’t imagine having a boyfriend at a time like this, when all she had been living for would finally get her a degree and then, afterwards, a career that she dreamed of. Especially considering she barely had time to make time for her friends, what with dance and family coming second and first respectively.

  When Emma finished the last couple of loose ends she needed to tie up, she turned down the music to a low murmur and sat down on the wood floor. When she cooled down, stretched, she allowed her mind to reacquire thoughts, but instead of zeroing on just one, she let them ramble. Her feet were pushed together, bending her knees so that her legs looked like butterfly wings, and as she leaned over her feet with ease, those thoughts that had been ignored for the past hour began to flow in. Like how she was afraid of the uncertainty that graduation brought. How she wished her father would start dating because she really did want him to find someone that would make him happy. Like how she knew she wouldn’t be taken seriously with this particular choice of song for the recital, but the beat was unheard of. Like how she was so glad she wasn’t dating that tool Dylan Tootoo. Like how Kyle played an amazing game last night and how she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed him before and he was pretty cute.

  “Okay Em,” she said to herself, rolling her body back upright. “Time to shower.” She stood up and quickly finished stretching, this time making it a point to block any and all thoughts about Number Sixteen.

  Once she washed up and dried off, Emma changed into her usual school outfit. It was by no means fashionable, nor did it reflect her family’s wealth but it was comfortable and practical so if she needed to run to the floor at UCI’s dance studio – in case she came up with something else, needed to tweak something, or needed to teach somebody else – she could without worrying about changing or doing the routine in something uncomfortable or revealing. Sweatpants from Victoria’s Secret’s Pink line, varying the colors and style every day, and a t-shirt from the same company. Her shoes were either ballet flats or flip flops and her hair was either in a loose ponytail or a simple bun. Her face was void of makeup, save of Chapstick and mascara.

  When she headed downstairs for breakfast, she found her father already dressed for work, sitting at the dining table reading the paper. He looked up when he noticed her come in and offered her a warm smile.

  “Ready for your first day?” he asked her, folding the paper down so he could give her his complete attention.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said as she headed over to the cabinet, picking out her favorite cereal - one of the only foods she could probably live off of if she had to – and pouring herself a sizable bowl. “I only have dance classes today. It’s tomorrow I have to be worried about.”

  “What’s tomorrow?” He took a sip of coffee.

  “Ummm.” She waited until she swallowed her bite of cereal before answering, “History and psychology and economics. Yeesh.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he said, hiding a smirk at her flair for the dramatic. “You’re a smart girl.”

  “Thanks Dad.” Emma took another bite of cereal, going over the steps she had added earlier this morning to the choreography in her head.

  “What a shame.”

  Emma glanced up at her father who had now unfolded the paper once again, his brown eyes heavily involved in the words that were presented to him.

  “What’s up?” she asked, her mouth full.

  Jeremy shook his head. “Yesterday was a pretty bad game, you know?” he asked. “What, with all the protesting, the booing, the whole ‘should they play Thorpe, should they not,’ Ken’s murder. People are just ripping into Seraphina Hanson. If you read this article, the same journalist criticizes her for both playing Thorpe and then pulling him during the second period and then putting him back in during the third. This poor girl can’t catch a break.”

  “But that’s not fair,” Emma said. “What should she have done?”

  Her father shrugged. “Everyone has their own opinion about what she should have done and what she should do,” he said. “Honestly, she sort of screwed herself over by flip flopping – playing him and then not playing him – but I have to admire her for sticking Thorpe back in the net despite the animosity the crowd gave her. My theory is that action right there shows that she doesn’t think Thorpe killed her grandfather.”

  “Why?” Emma furrowed her brow, looking up at her father. She wasn’t quite sure where she stood when it came to whether she believed Thorpe actually killed Ken, but she didn’t think that Seraphina’s choice to play him meant that she believed he was completely innocent. How could she possibly know that? “Maybe she’s just playing him because he’s the best. She’s putting the team before her personal issues.”

  “I don’t think so,” her father replied with a knowing smile. “Ken was close to both of his granddaughters. He lived for them and even though I didn’t interact with them personally, anybody could see that they felt the exact same way about him. Besides each other, the girls didn’t have anybody else besides Ken. Their uncles are notorious for being bums, though their personal issues have never come to light. I don’t care how hood Thorpe is in goal; if Seraphina truly believed there was a possibility Thorpe killed her grandfather, she wouldn’t play him. Not someone who took the only real family she had left, aside from her sister of course. But she did.”

  “Why did she pull him out then?” Emma asked as her father continued to flip through the paper. “If Seraphina didn’t believe Thorpe did it and he’s the best, why did she pull him?”

  “Probably what we discussed last night,” her father said, though his attention was elsewhere. “The whole business aspect of owning a hockey team can’t be completely forgotten by personal belief. People were protesting and booing. If they stop coming to games and buying merchandise, that’s a lot of money the Gulls lose, which normally goes into the players’ salaries. And if the players can’t be paid, they’re going to play somewhere else.”

  “Okay, then why did she play him again
?” Emma was confused. Even if her father’s logic was sound, and everything he was saying was true, it didn’t make anything less complicated. And if her father was right about pulling Thorpe, it didn’t make sense that she play him. “If she’s going to lose money and everything.”

  “I can only speculate but I think that putting him in again showed that she is committed to his innocence,” Jeremy said, flipping the page. “And if she believes in him, the fans should believe in him. It also gives the team a lot of motivation, knowing that their owner is going to back them unless proved otherwise. Like a said, the girl has balls. She’s risking loss in revenue, in fans, but she’s taking a stand and not looking back. I kind of wish she didn’t have to learn it by pulling Thorpe in the second, but maybe it’s better that way.”

  Emma nodded, trying to understand everything her father said. It was hard to pretend to be interested in something she didn’t care about, and even though hockey wasn’t exactly on the top of her favorite list, she found that she wanted to learn the ins and outs of the sport. And she found that she was fascinated by Seraphina Hanson and what she was going through, and how she held herself with such… Perhaps grace was the right word. And to have to make those decisions with the entire world watching while dealing with the loss of her grandfather… Like her father said, the girl had balls.

  “Oh my God.”

  Emma looked up at her father once again, this time waiting for him to speak. He had this habit of commenting aloud on whatever he was reading. Knowing that his daughter sat directly across from him, Jeremy would certainly share what caused his hushed outburst eventually.

  “Listen to this, Em,” he said. His eyes had lit up and he was smiling with obvious excitement. Suddenly, his face changed and the smile suddenly disappeared from his face. “I don’t know why I’m smiling. This news isn’t great, but I’m fascinated by the turn of events this case is taking.”

  “What are you talking about?” Emma asked, her patience suddenly slipping through her fingers.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Jeremy shook his head once more and brought his eyes over to his daughter. “Apparently, the police have just released more information about the suspects in Ken’s murder, and actually listed a primary suspect. If we had a television in here, I’m sure that it would be breaking news. It isn’t Thorpe that’s number one, though they do admit they’re looking into him. It’s Alan Brown. His son.”

  “What?” Emma asked. She wasn’t normally surprised, but this actually shocked her.

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said, that excited sparkle back in his eye. “They don’t give any information except that they have a reasonable amount of evidence to suspect him above everyone else. But it’s not a secret that Alan wanted his father to sell the team.”

  “Why?”

  “Alan has troubles,” Jeremy said. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re there. And selling the team to someone else would generate a lot of money for him. If Ken chose to give him any.”

  “That’s so sad,” Emma murmured. “I don’t understand –“ She stopped herself from saying anything. Instead, her eyes focused on the wooden table and without any particular reason, began to pick at the smooth surface.

  Because, in fact, Emma did understand. She understood better than many people. Family wasn’t supposed to do that to other family, but not everybody followed the rules. Her mother didn’t and it sounded like Seraphina’s uncle didn’t either. Emma had no idea why her mother left, but to have an uncle whose own greed outweighed his family was something surely the Hanson girls were affected by. And now, to learn that not only was Ken’s death ruled as a homicide, but that the main suspect was her uncle? How could they handle something like this?

  Jeremy seemed to be able to read his daughter’s mind because he reached over and gave Emma a gentle squeeze on the hand. Thankfully, he knew her well enough not to say anything, and for a moment, the two sat in a comfortable silence.

  “But I thought you read somewhere that Ken was going to sell the team,” Emma said. Luckily, her voice came out normal, as though she hadn’t just thought about why her mother abandoned her. Again. “Why would Alan kill his father if Ken was going to do what Alan wanted?”

  “Again, just because Ken was going to sell the team didn’t mean Alan would get anything from it,” her father pointed out. “Now his motive, if he did do it, is most likely financial. I would love to get my hands on Ken’s will to see just how much money he gave to his sons verses his granddaughters. Obviously Alan didn’t get the hockey team which says a lot. He gives his recently graduated granddaughter over his son? Why? Ken had to know Alan’s problems and didn’t want to enable him which could enrage a guy who cares more about money than his family. And I’m not entirely convinced Ken was going to retire. He loves this game, this team. He seemed coherent and there. No way he just sells it, especially if he gives Seraphina his team after his death. And he never made an official statement. Ken wanting to sell the team is all speculation.”

  Emma nodded but didn’t say anything. She continued to pick at the table, allowing everything to sink in.

  “So,” Jeremy said, finished with the paper. He waited a moment until Emma looked up in order to make eye contact with her, to show her that she had his full attention. “Are you coming to the game tonight?” He took a sip of his coffee, never breaking that contact.

  “Yeah,” Emma said, a telling smile curling onto her face.

  “I’m glad.” He grinned. “You seem to want to know a lot more about hockey. Knowing you, you’ll probably go buy a book about it and read it in an hour, and on top of that, remember everything about it. Is there any particular reason for this sudden craving of knowledge?”

  He was teasing her, she knew, but that didn’t stop the blush from caressing her cheeks. It was like her father knew Kyle Underwood was the reason. Which was not something she was willing to admit to herself. She wasn’t some adolescent girl who went over the moon because the cute, popular jock talked to her. She was Emma Winsor, scholarship student, dancer. Boys didn’t factor in her world just yet.

  Ugh, she was screwed unless she didn’t retain some sort of control over herself.

  “No major reason,” she said, carefully avoiding her father’s eyes. She continued to pick, pick, pick at it more and more though there wasn’t anything there to be picked at. “I have a little more time and I thought I might as well learn about it now.”

  His smile only showed that he knew she was lying to him, and perhaps he knew the real reason behind the sudden fascination with his favorite sport, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he finished his coffee and stood up. “Well, I for one am not complaining.” He slid on his blazer and his smile was suddenly harmless, genuine. “Have a good first day at school. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

  And then, before he left the dining room, he winked.

  12. Madison tapped the end of her pen against the desk she sat at, her chin resting in the swell of her palm, her eyes glancing over at the plain clock that resided on the side of a bleak wall. It felt like an eternity just sitting there, but apparently on two minutes and twenty two seconds had gone by.

  Well.

  Currently, Madison was waiting for her last class of the day – social psychology – to begin. It was a lecture class and when she walked in fifteen minutes early into the nearly vacant room, she decided on her usual place, close to the front but technically what people would refer to as the middle in the center of the row. She dropped her bag to her feet and grabbed her new notebook and a pen and pencil. Various professors had different preferences when it came to writing materials, though nowadays everyone seemed to prefer papers and assignments being typed. When she took notes, Madison liked to use both, just to keep things interesting and to force herself to be more organized.

  Her patience for the day already wore thin. She couldn’t wait to leave, relax for a couple hours, and then head over to Sea Side Ice Palace where another preseason home game would take place. Maybe it was
n’t frustration that she was still at school when she wished for nothing else than to be at home taking a nice, long nap. Maybe she was excited to see Alec Schumacher again.

  But how ridiculous was that? Alec Schumacher definitely wasn’t her type. Like, in the slightest. Except for the fact that he was incredibly good looking, but then again, weren’t good looks part of everyone’s type? Her tapping became louder and louder the more she thought about last night’s game, how she had teased him about the lack of scoring on his part and then how he went to score in the second period. Not that she thought she had anything to do with that, of course. What a ridiculous notion. Alec was a good player, everyone knew that, and good players often produced results. In Alec’s class, it meant that he scored. And they still got slaughtered by the Phoenix Panthers. Alec’s one goal couldn’t save them. But it was a pretty nice goal.

  Oh God, she did not need this right now. She didn’t like players or jocks or arrogant assholes. She liked smart guys. Smart, brooding guys who had an air of mystery surrounding them. Not outgoing, charming hockey players. Especially hockey players she wasn’t even allowed to date anyways. There were too many of those where she came from, and truth be told, she had had her fair share of trials and tribulations that always resulted in her heart being broken and a lesson not being learned. When she headed to California, she vowed she would learn her lesson this time. In fact, she didn’t want to date anyone now anyways. She would focus on school. And her job. And making new friends and keeping the ones she had, both here – which only included Amanda right now – and back home – which included her best friends Stephanie and Rhine.